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May 15, 2018 / barton smock

Unmark – poems – Montreux Rotholtz


poems, Montreux Rotholtz
Burnside Review Press, 2017


help me I’m partial – {from} Psalm

I call ash the blindfold of scar. I get my strength from paper dolls. Hypnosis skipped my mother. These, feel true. They, are not. Rare the language that knows what to say. And rarer yet the speaker who can make of voice a bread that rises at the footfall of ghost. Unmark has such language, and Montreux Rotholtz, good lord, speaks. As if summoned from the nonexistent archival footage of recent warning signs, these poems, these disorienting anticipations, are very here. They turn one to echo. They reshape the form one takes when returning home. Not one of these verses is lost, and Rotholtz is in command of such a possessive leavetaking that the reader feels as one created to recognize whatever blessed trespass they’ve gone to remember.


reflection by Barton Smock


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